BEFORE my friend Perkins became famous throughout the advertising
world,--and what part of the world does not advertise,--he was at
one time a soliciting agent for a company that controlled the “patent
insides” of a thousand or more small Western newspapers. Later, my
friend Perkins startled America by his renowned advertising campaign
for Pratt's hats; and, instead of being plain Mr. Perkins of Chicago, he
blossomed into Perkins of Portland. Still later, when he put Perkins's
Patent Porous Plaster on the market, he became great; became Perkins the
Great, in fact; and now advertisers, agents, publishers, and the world
in general, bow down and worship him. But I love to turn at times from
the blaze of his present glory to those far-off days when he was still a
struggling amateur, just as we like to read of Napoleon's early history,
tracing in the small beginnings of their lives the little rivulets of
genius that later overwhelmed the world, and caused the universe to
pause in stupefaction.
Who would have thought that the gentle Perkins, who induced Silas Boggs
to place a five-line ad. in a bunch of back-county weeklies, would ever
thrill the nation with the news that
Perkins's Patent Porous Plaster Make all pains and aches fly faster, and
keep up the thrill until the Perkins Plaster was so to speak, in every
mouth!
And yet these two men were the same. Plain Perkins, who urged and begged
and prayed Silas Boggs to let go of a few dollars, and Perkins the
Great, the Originator,--Perkins of Portland, who originated the Soap
Dust Triplets, the Smile that Lasts for Aye, Ought-to-hawa
Biscuit,--who, in short, is the father, mother, and grandparent of modern
advertising, are the selfsame Perkinses. From such small beginnings can
the world's great men spring.
In the days before the kodak had a button to press while they do
the rest; even before Royal Baking Powder was quite so pure as
“absolutely,”--it was then about 99 99/100% pure, like Ivory Soap,--in
those days, I say, long before Soapine “did it” to the whale, Mr. Silas
Boggs awoke one morning, and walked out to his wood-shed in a pair of
carpet slippers. His face bore an expression of mingled hope and doubt;
for he was expecting what the novelists call an interesting event,--in
fact, a birth,--and, quite as much in fact, a number of births--anywhere
from five to a dozen. Nor was Silas Boggs a Mormon. He was merely the
owner of a few ravenous guinea-pigs. It is well known that in the matter
of progeny the guinea-pig surpasses the famous Soap Dust, although that
has, as we all know, triplets on every bill-board.
Mr. Silas Boggs was not disappointed. Several of his spotted pets had
done their best to discountenance race suicide; and Silas, having put
clean water and straw and crisp lettuce leaves in the pens, began to
examine the markings of the newcomers, for he was an enthusiast on the
subject of guinea-pigs. He loved guinea-pigs as some connoisseurs
love oil paintings. He was fonder of a nicely marked guinea-pig than a
dilettante is of a fine Corot. And his fad had this advantage. You can
place a pair of oil paintings in a room, and leave them there for ages,
and you will never have another oil painting unless you buy one; but
if you place a pair of guinea-pigs in a room--then, as Rudyard says so
often, that is another story.
Suddenly Mr. Silas Boggs stood upright and shouted aloud in joy. He
hopped around the wood-shed on one leg, clapping his hands and singing.
Then he knelt down again, and examined more closely the little spotted
creature that caused his joy. It was true, beyond doubt! One of his pigs
had presented him with something the world had never known before--a
lop-eared guinea-pig! His fame was sure from that moment. He would be
known to all the breeders of guinea-pigs the world over as the owner of
the famous lop-eared spotted beauty. He christened her Duchess on the
spot, not especially because duchesses have lop-ears, but because he
liked the name. That was in the days before people began calling things
Nearwool and Ka-bosh-ko and Ogeta Jaggon, and similar made-to-order
names.
To Mr. Boggs, in the midst of his joy, came a thought; and he feverishly
raked out with his hands the remaining newly born guinea-piglets,
examining one after another. Oh, joy! He almost fainted! There was
another lop-eared pig in the litter; and, what filled his cup to
overflowing, he was able to christen the second one Duke!
At that moment Perkins walked into the wood-shed. Perkins at that time
had a room in the Silas Boggs mansion, and he entered the wood-shed
merely to get an armful of wood with which to replenish his fire.
“Well, Boggs,” he remarked in his cheerful way--and I may remark that,
since Perkins has become famous, every advertising agent has copied his
cheerful manner of speech, so that the ad. man who does not greet you
with a smile no longer exists--
“Well, Boggs,” he remarked, “more family ties, I see. Great thing,
family ties. What is home without sixty-eight guinea-pigs?”
Silas Boggs grinned. “Perkins!” he gasped. “Perkins! Oh, Perkins! My
dear Perkins!” But he could get no farther, so overcome was he by his
emotions. It was fully ten minutes before he could fully and clearly
explain that the stork had brought him a pair--the only pair--of
lop-eared guinea-pigs; and in the meantime Perkins had loaded his left
arm with stove wood, and stood clasping it, overhand, with his right
arm. When Silas Boggs managed to tell his wonderful news, Perkins
dropped the armful of wood on the floor with a crash.
“Boggs!” he cried, “Boggs! Now is your chance! Now is your golden
opportunity! Advertise, my boy, advertise!”
“What?” asked Silas Boggs, in amazement.
“I say--advertise!” exclaimed Perkins again.
“And I say--advertise what?” said Silas Boggs.
“Advertise what?” Perkins ejaculated. “What should you advertise, but
Silas Boggs's Celebrated Lop-eared Guinea-pigs? What has the world been
waiting and longing and pining for but the lop-eared guinea-pig? Why has
the world been full of woe and pain, but because it lacked lop-eared
guinea-pigs? Why are you happy this morning? Because you have lop-eared
guinea-pigs! Don't be selfish, Silas--give the world a chance. Let them
into the joy-house on the ground floor. Sell them lop-eared guinea-pigs
and joy. Advertise, and get rich!”
Silas Boggs shook his head.
“No!” he said. “No! I can't. I have only two. I'll keep them.”
Perkins seated himself on the wood-pile.
“Silas,” he said, “if I understand you, one of these lop-eared
guinea-pigs is a lady, and the other is a gentleman. Am I right?”
“You are,” remarked Silas Boggs.
“And I believe the guinea-pigs usually marry young, do they not?” asked
Perkins.
“They do,” admitted Silas Boggs.
“I think, if I am not mistaken,” said Perkins, “that you have told me
they have large and frequent families. Is it so?”
“Undoubtedly,” agreed Silas Boggs.
“And you have stated,” said Perkins, “that those families many young and
have large and frequent families that also marry young and have large
and frequent families, have you not?”
“I have! I have!” exclaimed Silas Boggs, beginning to warm up.
“Then,” said Perkins, “in a year you ought to have many, many lop-eared
guinea-pigs. Is that correct?”
“I ought to have thousands!” cried Silas Boggs, in ecstasy.
“What is a pair of common guinea-pigs worth?” asked Perkins.
“One dollar,” said Silas Boggs. “A lop-eared pair ought to be worth two
dollars, easily.”
“Two dollars!” cried Perkins. “Two fiddlesticks! Five dollars, you mean!
Why, man, you have a corner in lop-ears. You have all there are. Shake
hands!”
The two men shook hands solemnly. Mr. Perkins was hopefully solemn. Mr.
Boggs was amazedly solemn.
“I shake your hand,” said Perkins, “because I congratulate you on your
fortune. You will soon be a wealthy man.” He paused, and then added, “If
you advertise judiciously.”
There were real tears in the eyes of Silas Boggs, as he laid his arm
affectionately across Perkins's shoulders.
“Perkins,” he said, “I can never repay you. I can never even thank you.
I will advertise. I'll go right into the house and write out an
order for space in every paper you represent. How many papers do you
represent, Perkins?”
Perkins coughed.
“Perhaps,” he said, gently, “we had better begin small. Perhaps we had
better begin with a hundred or so. There is no use overdoing it. I
have over a thousand papers on my list; and if the lop-eared brand
of guinea-pig shouldn't be as fond of large families as the common
guinea-pig is--if it should turn out to be a sort of fashionable
American family kind of guinea-pig, you know--you might have trouble
filling orders.”
But Silas Boggs was too enthusiastic to listen to calm advice. He waved
his arms wildly above his head.
“No! no!” he shouted. “All, or none, Perkins! No half-measures with
Silas Boggs! No skimping! Give me the whole thousand! I know what
advertising is--I've had experience. Didn't I advertise for a position
as vice-president of a bank last year--and how many replies did I get?
Not one! Not one! Not one, Perkins! I know, you agents are always too
sanguine. But I don't ask the impossible. I'm easily satisfied. If I
sell one pair for each of the thousand papers I'll be satisfied, and
I'll consider myself lucky. And as for the lop-eared guinea-pigs--you
furnish the papers, and the guinea-pigs will do the rest!”
Thus, in the face of Perkins's good advice, Silas Boggs inserted a small
advertisement in the entire list of one thousand country weeklies, and
paid cash in advance. To those who know Perkins the Great to-day, such
folly as going contrary to his advice in advertising matters would be
unthought of. His word is law. To follow his advice means success; to
neglect it means failure.
He is infallible. But in those days, when his star was but rising above
the horizon, he was not, as he is now, considered the master and
leader of us all--the king of the advertising world--mighty giant of
advertising genius among the dwarfs of imitation. So Silas Boggs refused
his advice.
The next month the advertisement of the Silas Boggs Lop-eared
Guinea-pigs began to appear in the weekly newspapers of the West. The
advertisement, although small, was well worded, for Perkins wrote it
himself. It was a gem of advertising writing. It began with a small cut
of a guinea-pig, which, unfortunately, appeared as a black blot in many
of the papers; but this, perhaps, lent an air of mystery to the cut that
it would not otherwise have had. The text was as follows:
“The Celebrated Lop-eared Andalusian Guinea-pigs! Hardy and prolific!
One of nature's wonders! Makes a gentle and affectionate pet. For young
or old. YOU CAN MAKE MONEY by raising and selling Lop-eared Andalusian
Guinea-pigs. One pair starts you in business. Send money-order for $10
to Silas Boggs, 5986 Cottage Grove Avenue, Chicago, HI., and receive a
healthy pair, neatly boxed, by express.”
To Silas Boggs the West had theretofore been a vague, colorless
expanse somewhere beyond the West Side of Chicago. Three days after his
advertisements began to appear, he awoke to the fact that the West is
a vast and mighty empire, teeming with millions of souls. And to Silas
Boggs it seemed that those souls had been sleeping for ages, only to
be called to life by the lop-eared Andalusian guinea-pig. The lop-eared
Andalusian guinea-pig was the one touch that made the whole West kin.
Mail came to him by tubfuls and basketfuls. People who despised and
reviled the common guinea-pig were impatient and restless because they
had lived so long without the sweet companionship of the lop-eared
Andalusian. From Tipton, Ia., and Vida, Kan., and Chenawee, Dak.,
and Orangebloom, Cal., came eager demands for the hardy and prolific
lop-ear. Ministers of the gospel and babes in arms insisted on having
the gentle and affectionate Andalusian lop-eared guinea-pigs.
The whole West arose in its might, and sent money-orders to Silas Boggs.
And Silas Boggs opened the letters as fast as he could, and smiled. He
piled the blue money-orders up in stacks beside him, and smiled. Silas
Boggs was one large, happy smile for one large, happy week. Then he
frowned a little.
For all was not well with the lop-eared Andalusian guinea-pigs. They
were not as hardy as he had guaranteed them to be. They seemed to have
the pip, or glanders, or boll-weevil, or something unpleasant. The Duke
was not only lop-eared, but seemed to feel loppy all over. The Duchess,
in keeping with her name, evinced a desire to avoid common society,
and sulked in one corner of her cage. They were a pair of very effete
aristocrats. Silas Boggs gave them catnip tea and bran mash, or other
sterling remedies; but the far-famed lop-eared Andalusians pined away.
And, as Silas Boggs sat disconsolately by their side, he could hear the
mail-men relentlessly dumping more and more letters on the parlor floor.
The West was just beginning to realize the desirability of having
lop-eared guinea-pigs at the moment when lop-eared guinea-pigs were on
the point of becoming as extinct as the dodo and mastodon. In a day or
two they became totally extinct, and the lop-eared Andalusian guinea-pig
existed no more. Silas Boggs wept.
But his tears did not wash away the constantly increasing heaps of
orders. He ordered Perkins to withdraw his advertisement, but still the
orders continued to come, and Silas Boggs, assisted by a corps of young,
but industrious, ladies, began returning to the eager West the beautiful
blue money-orders; and, if anything sends a pang through a man's breast,
it is to be obliged to return a money-order uncashed.
By the end of the month the incoming orders had dwindled to a few
thousand daily--about as many as Silas Boggs and his assistants could
return. By the end of the next month they had begun to make noticeable
inroads in the accumulated piles of orders; and in two months more the
floor was clear, and the arriving orders had fallen to a mere dribble
of ten or twelve a day, but the hair of Silas Boggs had turned gray, and
his face was old and wan.
Silas Boggs gave away all his guinea-pigs--the sight of them brought on
something like a fit. He could not even bear to see a lettuce leaf
or cabbage-head. He will walk three blocks to avoid passing an animal
store, for fear he might see a guinea-pig in the window. Only a few days
ago I was praising a certain man to him, and happened to quote the line
from Burns,--
“Rank is but the guinea's stamp,”
but when I came to the word “guinea,” I saw Silas Boggs turn pale, and
put his hand to his forehead.
But he cannot escape the results of his injudicious advertising, even
at this day, so many years after. From time to time some one in the West
will unpack a trunk that has stood for years in some garret, and espying
a faded newspaper laid in the bottom of the trunk, will glance at
it curiously, see the advertisement of the lop-eared Andalusian
guinea-pigs, and send Silas Boggs ten dollars.
For an advertisement, like sin, does not end with the day, but goes on
and on, down the mighty corridors of time, and, like the hall-boy in
a hotel, awakes the sleeping, and calls them to catch a train that,
sometimes, has long since gone, just as the lop-eared Andalusians have
gone.