houses we're going to buy next year!"
As they turned to go, Van Dorn took up a blank piece of drawing-paper
and a brush. He worked away a few moments, the others looking on. As
they passed out he tacked it to the outer door with pins. Then they all
faced about, and, standing abreast, read in the fading light of the
hall-way:
OFFICE OF
THE WHOLE FAMILY
A WEEKLY PAPER
FOR YOUNG AND OLD
V
A LETTER FROM MR. TRUMAN LIVINGSTONE OF NEW YORK TO MISS DOROTHY CASTLE
OF CLEVELAND
MY DEAR, DEAREST DORRY: When I sit down to write to you
there is always so much I want to say that I never know
where to begin, and in the end I seem to tell you nothing at
all except that I love you, which you have heard so much I
am always afraid you will grow tired of hearing it again.
Then I turn cold at the thought, and rewrite the letter to
leave out some of the times, but before I am done I find
them all in again somewhere else; so it is no use, you see,
and I generally send the first letter, after all. Then, when
it is gone I want it back, though I don't know whether I
want it to take out some of the times I've said it, or to
put in some more that I didn't say.
"Oh, Dorry dear, I do love you, and often when I have
thought of you in your beautiful home surrounded by luxury,
and then remembered that I have asked you to leave it all
and cast your fortunes with a chap whose fortunes depend on
the whim of the public and the fancy of the art editor, it
has made me feel so guilty that I have more than once put
into those letters I didn't send something about letting you
take it all back and not allowing you to make such a
sacrifice for me, even though you are true and noble and
willing.
"And then I didn't send those letters, and I'm glad now that
I didn't, for the hard days are going to be over soon, and I
feel that I shall be able to offer you comforts that will,
perhaps, keep you from regretting altogether those you have
left behind. I am glad you are so enthusiastic too, now,
about the paper, though you didn't feel just that way at the
start, and after I got your first letter I had to talk the
scheme all over again with Barry and Perny and Van to get
back my courage and to be sure the Bible premium was all
right.
"You know, Dorry, that money is a great thing, or at least
you don't know, because you never had to do without it, but
it is, and especially here where it is so hard to get, and
where it takes so much of it to live even respectably. All
that you have so often said about the bohemian life is fine
and beautiful, and true in a way, too, but there are
unpleasant phases of it as well. The struggle is very hard
sometimes, and even Perny and Van, who do not need much
money, and who will never be anything different from what
they are now, even they are glad that they will be worth a
million at least by this time next year.
"Perny has some property out West that he'll be able to hire
somebody to take off his hands then, and Van wants to buy
another old bureau that we saw yesterday at an antique-shop,
though he already has two, and nothing in them except
fishing-tackle that he gets every spring before it is time
to go, and never uses. Then, Van thinks he'd like a house to
keep his bureaus in, too, and Perny wants a place where he
can have whatever he likes to eat, and a lot of people to
help him eat it, while he recites his poetry to them.
"You _know_ what I want a house for--a house that shall be a
home for you and for me, and where, in the soft light of
dim, quiet rooms, I shall sit by you and talk and listen
while time slips on. Do you remember how the time used to
fly when we were together? It seemed always as if some one
must be turning the clock ahead for a joke. I am going to
make a picture some day of two Lovers, and on the mantel
above them Cupid laughing and turning up the clock-hands. We
will make that picture together next year, for you will slip
in and look over my shoulder, and you will take the pen or
the brush and touch here and there; and the editors will
like my pictures better because of those touches; and when
they are printed in the books and papers I will sit
dreaming over my own work because it will not be all mine,
but part Dorry's, too.
"I have never told Perny and Van anything about you, because
I have never quite found the opportunity to do it in the way
I would like. But I think sometimes they suspect, for the
other day, when we went out to look at houses, Perny said he
didn't suppose I'd want my house very close to two old
hardened sinners like them. Then we came to a vacant lot
that was just about large enough for three houses, and I
said we wouldn't buy houses at all, but would buy the lot
and build there side by side and just to suit us. And I said
we would have our studios on the same floor of each, and
opening through into each other as they do now, and that
Perny's should be between, because we both illustrate his
work sometimes, and that then we would be able to hire
editors to run the 'Whole Family,' and we would work at the
kind of work we liked to do and at no other. And I said that
evenings we would sit together and talk just as we do now,
and you would be there, too--though, of course, I didn't
say that, but I know they understood and liked it, and you
would like it too, sweetheart, for you have said so.
"And then Van said, 'Bully, old man!' and Perny didn't say
anything, but he put his arms over Van and me when we came
to the stairs, and we went up and took a look at my picture
before dark. Perny wants me to finish it and sell it to get
the money to put into the paper, and says he is going to buy
it back with the first returns that come, to hang over his
desk when we get into our new houses. But he isn't, because
we are going to give it to him, you and I, when you come,
and then we will all go together and try to make the
originals of it happier because we are so happy ourselves.
The money I have been saving will be enough, I am sure, to
pay my share in starting the paper, for we will only have a
few little engraving and composition and stationery bills
and postage, and maybe some salaries to pay, before the
returns begin to come in. But I am going to finish the
picture anyway, so's to have it ready, and Perny and Van
both say it is the best thing, so far, I have ever done. We
don't any of us work as much as we did, but then it has
taken such a lot of time to plan for the paper that we
couldn't, and, after all, a few dollars invested that way
now will count so much for us all by and by. Perny is
working at editing, too, a good deal, and Van and I help. We
have already got some 'copy' at the printer's, and Van and I
have designed some department headings and a title-head that
I will send you proofs of as soon as we get them engraved.
We are going to have a beautiful paper, and if we can only
get presses to print them fast enough when the first issue
goes out in November, we will have two or three million
circulation anyway by the first of the year.
"I _know_ we will now, even if I have ever had any doubts of
it before. I know, because we have a new scheme that simply
_cannot fail_. I can't tell you just what it is in this
letter, because I don't altogether understand it myself yet,
but Van does, and Perny, for it is Van's scheme this time,
and Perny helped him work it out. We are going to 'spring'
it on Barry to-morrow night, and it simply beats the premium
idea to death, so Perny says, and he didn't sleep a wink all
night thinking about it, nor Van either, and they have been
explaining it to each other all day until I don't know
'where I'm at'; but they do, and they are sitting outside
now, smoking and figuring up how many people there are in
the world who read English. It is called CASH FOR NAMES, and
will catch them all,--every one,--so Perny says; and as soon
as we get it type-written I will send you a copy, so you can
see just how great it is.
"And now, Dorry dear, I haven't told you anything at all,
though I have written a long letter, and there is so much
you would rather hear than all the things I have said. When
I write I only think of you, Dorry, and how I hunger to see
your beautiful face, and how long the time will be until I
shall take you in my arms and never let you go again. Oh,
sweetheart, I never, _never_ could give you up, unless, of
course, something dreadful should happen, such as my going
blind or being run over and half killed by a cable car, or
if the paper should fail and wreck us all, which I know
can't happen now. I have thought I ought to, sometimes, for
your sake, but I know now I never could have done it, for,
sleeping or waking, I am, Dorothy, through all eternity,
your
"TRUE."
VI
CASH FOR NAMES
The air was charged with a burden of mystery and moment when the three
who strove together in rooms near Union Square joined the man who did
something in an editorial way at the latter's office, and proceeded with
him to the Grand Union restaurant.
"We have a tale to unfold that will make your hair curl," said Perner,
as they stepped out on the lighted street. "Van has had an inspiration.
Premiums are not in it with this!"
"By gad, no!" agreed Livingstone. "It's the greatest thing yet!"
"Good!" shouted Barrifield, above the crash of the street. "Good!"
Van Dorn modestly remained silent. Perner made an effort to keep up the
conversation, but the roar of the cobble made results unsatisfactory and
difficult. It was a good mile to the Grand Union, but Barrifield
explained _sotto voce_ as they entered that it was the only place for
steamed soft clams in town. Soft clams appealed to Perner, and any
lingering doubts he may have had of Barrifield's ability as business
manager disappeared at this statement. Livingstone, who was not quite so
tall as the others, had kept up with some difficulty, and was puffing a
little as they seated themselves at a table in one corner.
"I know now what it means to start a paper," he observed reflectively.
"It means first to walk a good ways and then eat something. That's what
we've been doing ever since we started."
"Better eat while we've got a chance," said Van Dorn. "If the 'Whole
Family' fails we'll walk without eating."
"We can afford to eat on Van's new scheme," said Perner. "It's worth
it."
Barrifield laughed comfortably.
"What is your scheme?" he asked, seeing that Perner was waiting
anxiously to unload.
"Wait," interrupted Van Dorn. "Here's the waiter. Let's give the order,
and then we'll have a couple of hours to talk while he's catching the
clams."
Perner subsided, and each seized a bill of fare, which was studied with
stern solemnity for some moments. Dinner was a matter of perhaps more
respectful consideration with these rather prosperous bohemians than
even the new paper, which they still regarded, and possibly with some
reason, as a sort of farce, or than the Muses, whom they were inclined
to woo somewhat cavalierly.
"I should think two portions of clams would be enough," suggested Van
Dorn, at length; "then we can have something solid in the way of meat
and things."
Perner protested.
"Oh, pshaw, Van! I want a full portion myself, and Barry wants one, too;
don't you, Barry?"
Barrifield, who had come from a coast where pie and clams are the
natural heritage, suggested that, as the portions here were something
less than a peck each, they might compromise on three. This Perner
reluctantly agreed to, and the usual extra sirloin with mushrooms was
added. Pie was then selected by Perner and Barrifield, and various
delicacies by the others.
"A large pot of coffee," concluded Van Dorn.
"Ale with the clams," suggested Livingstone. The others nodded.
"Martinis first," interrupted Perner. Then to the waiter, "Four
Martinis--and don't be all night getting them here."
"Rochefort, and Panetela cigars with the coffee," supplemented
Barrifield.
"Cigarettes for me," corrected Livingstone, "Turkish Sultanas, small
package, gold tips."
There was a note of gold in the atmosphere. The order was not prodigal,
but there was an unstinted go-as-you-please manner about it which made
the waiter bow and vanish hastily. Barrifield turned to Perner.
"Now," he said, "what's your great scheme?"
Perner had already drawn a folded type-written sheet from his inside
coat pocket.
"It's Van's idea," he said, with becoming modesty. "I may have
elaborated it some and put it into words, that's all. But it's simply
tremendous! Premiums have been done. Cameras and watches have been given
with twelve papers of bluing or needles, but this thing has never been
done by anybody--at least, not in this form."
"That's right!" said Livingstone.
"No, sir, old man; I don't believe it has," confessed Van Dorn, with
some reluctance at doing justice to his own conception.
Barrifield looked from one to the other with large expectancy in his
eyes.
"Let's hear it," he said anxiously.
Perner unfolded the paper and glanced at the tables about them to see
that no one was listening. Then he began to read in a low, earnest
voice:
"CASH PAID FOR NAMES!
"TWENTY-FIVE CENTS FOR EACH!
"The proprietors of the 'Whole Family,' the greatest and
most magnificent weekly paper ever published, make to the
whole English-speaking world the following unheard-of offer.
"I got that style of eloquence from Frisby's advertisements," Perner
paused to explain. "It catches 'em, you know." The others nodded. Perner
continued:
"To any one, old or young, in any part of the globe, who
will send us a list of twenty names of men or women, boys or
girls, likely to be interested in the most beautiful, the
most superb, illustrated family weekly ever published, we
will send our marvelous paper, the 'Whole Family,' for four
consecutive weeks free of charge, and we will pay the sender
"TWENTY-FIVE CENTS IN CASH FOR EACH NAME
"added to our subscription-books on or before November 1,
1897. Remember, there is no canvassing! You select twenty
good names and send them to us by letter or postal card. We
do the rest. If you pick names of twenty good people we will
get twenty subscribers, and you will get
"FIVE DOLLARS IN CASH FOR FIVE MINUTES' WORK,
"besides our matchless paper free for one month! Remember!
Five dollars for twenty names--no more!"
Perner finished reading and looked steadily at Barrifield, as did Van
Dorn and Livingstone. Barrifield was reflecting deeply with closed eyes.
"They send in the names of twenty people," he meditated; "we mail sample
copies to them, and pay the sender twenty-five cents for each one that
subscribes. We don't pay till they subscribe, do we?"
"Why, no, of course not!" Perner was slightly annoyed that Barrifield
did not catch the scheme instantly, though it had taken him and Van Dorn
two full days to become entirely clear on it themselves. "You see," he
continued, "we'll send sample copies to each of these names for two
weeks. The sender of the names will also be getting his sample copies,
and knowing that twenty-five cents is to come from every subscriber,
he'll talk up the paper among others. He'll be an agent without knowing
it. The unpleasant feature of soliciting subscribers will be all done
away with. He'll pick the best names, of course, in the first
place--people that he knows are dead sure to take the paper. We'll get
up a paper they can't _help_ taking. He'll get five dollars in cash, and
we'll get twenty subscribers to the 'Whole Family.'"
"Twenty-one," corrected Van Dorn. "The sender of the names will
subscribe, of course--he'll have to, as an example to the others."
"Perny's going to send him a special confidential circular," put in
Livingstone, "thanking him for his interest and calling him 'Dear
Friend.'"
"And a hundred thousand people will send lists," said Perner. "A
hundred thousand lists with twenty names to the list will be two million
names. Every one of them will subscribe--every one of them! But say
they don't--say, to be on the safe side, that only _ten_ of them
subscribe before November 1; say that only _five_ of them do. There's
one half-million subscribers to start with--one half-million subscribers
on the first day of November, when we mail our first regular
subscription issue! What do you think of that?"
It was just the sort of scheme to appeal to Barrifield. As the
fascination of it dawned upon him he regarded wonderingly each of the
conspirators in turn.
"I think," he said at last, with slow emphasis and gravity, "I think it
simply _tre-mendous_!"
Van Dorn's eyes glistened, and Livingstone leaned forward as if to
speak. Perner could scarcely keep his seat.
"Wait, then," he said jubilantly, "wait till you hear the rest of it!
That's only the beginning. Listen to this!"
"'Sh!" cautioned Van Dorn, glancing at the tables near them, some of
whose occupants seemed attracted by the evident excitement of their
neighbors. Perner had drawn forth a second paper, and lowered his voice
almost to a whisper.
"This," he said, "is the second chapter and contains the climax. The one
I just read will appear in outside papers before our first issue is out.
This will appear in our own sample copies, and is what will clench and
make subscribers of every name that comes. Listen!
"CASH PAID FOR NAMES!
"POTS OF GOLD! POTS OF GOLD! NO WORK!
"Any boy or girl, man or woman, in any part of the world,
who shall become a subscriber to the 'Whole Family'--the
greatest, cheapest, and most beautiful weekly paper ever
published--may send, with his or her subscription price of
one dollar, a list of twenty names of those most likely to
be interested in this marvelous home paper, and receive
"TWENTY-FIVE CENTS IN CASH FOR EACH AND EVERY NAME
"added to our subscription list before December 1 of the
present year. By selecting the best names before they are
taken by others, and subscribing _now_, you are certain to
get your money back and a snug sum for Christmas besides!
Don't wait a moment! Select sure winners and send them to
us with the small subscription price of a dollar! You get
five for one in return, and the most glorious paper ever
printed besides!"
Perner paused and looked straight at Barrifield. The big blond dreamer
was regarding them in a dazed way.
"That means," he said at last, huskily, "another list of names with each
of our half-million or million subscriptions, and then--"
"And then," said Van Dorn, unable to hold in another second, "sample
copies and the same inducements to the new names for another month, and
the same to the names these send for still another month, and so on
until we have the whole English-reading world on our subscription list,
and there are no more names to send, except as people are born and grow
up. There are fifteen million English-speaking families in the United
States, not to mention Canada, England, Australia, New Zealand, India,
and South Africa, and we'll have them all in a year! In a year! Every
one of them!"
"In a year!" said Perner. "We'll have them in _six months_! Less! Why,"
he continued excitedly, "even starting with but a single unit and
doubling, you get a million with twenty multiplications, and starting,
as we will, with half a million or more names to begin with, and getting
twenty new names for each on the next round, and so continuing, we'd
have--allowing that only one fourth of them subscribe--we'd have fifty
million subscribers--if there were that many in the universe--in three
rounds! Six months! Why, in less than a month people will be scratching
the world with garden-rakes to find anybody that isn't already a
subscriber, and even in China and the interior of Africa the 'Whole
Family' will have become the great civilizer and diffuser of the English
tongue."
Livingstone's face flushed and paled by turns, and his eyes sparkled.
"By gad, yes!" he said. "By gad!"
It was the last word. In the contemplation of this stupendous
proposition no one could utter another syllable.
The Martinis came on just then, and went down with a hot sizzle.
Barrifield was first to recover his voice. He was slow and deliberate
again, though still gasping a little, perhaps from the cocktail.
"Of course you know, fellows," he said, with an air of profound
reflection, "that this plan is going to take a little more money. It
involves sending out a large number of sample copies, and there'll be
some little clerk hire and postage to pay before the money comes in. It
won't be much extra, of course,--a few hundred dollars, perhaps,--but we
must be prompt paying our help. And then, we want to have a
bank-account. Frisby's scheme didn't call for any outlay, you see, until
the money began to come, and Frisby started without a dollar. He
didn't--"
"Yes, I know," interrupted Perner; "but Frisby's scheme was new then,
and might not work so well now. We've got another and a better one than
Frisby or anybody else ever had before. Even if it does take a little
more money at the start, any one of us can earn more in a week than it
takes to pay all the clerks we'll need."
"Why, yes," said Livingstone; "and we'll do most of the paper ourselves,
so we'll save that."
"We've got a great combination, boys," said Barrifield--"great!"
In the brief lull that followed this statement, which so fully expressed
the feeling of all present, Perner took occasion to go somewhat into
detail.
"In the first place," he said, "we're going to be flooded with names.
We'll have our paper all made up and start the presses running at the
rate of a hundred thousand a day the week before our advertising
appears--not sooner than that, because we want money to be coming in as
soon as possible after the papers are printed."
Perner paused to appreciate the admiring glances of the others. His ten
years' business experience was crystallizing itself into a beautiful
system.
"We'll have our clerks," he continued, "all ready with the books--a book
for each State--to enter the names as soon as the answers begin to come.
We must have one distributing clerk with a little post-office
arrangement to assort the letters and cards into States and give them to
the others. These will enter them and turn them over to another set of
clerks, who will address wrappers from the letters and cards themselves.
Then the wrappers will go to another set of clerks, who will wrap the
papers and mail them."
The admiration for Perner grew. It seemed simplicity itself.
"One hundred thousand a day," he continued, "will give us two million
papers in about three weeks. That'll be the first round of the first
issue. Before those are half out we will be getting subscriptions like
hot cakes, and we'll have to double our force to handle them. But
subscriptions mean money, and with twenty or thirty thousand dollars a
day coming in, we'll have money to double them up with."
"If the subscriptions don't come it will double us up," laughed Van
Dorn.
As for Barrifield, he seemed stupefied. He had started the wind, but the
cyclone it had grown to was whirling him along faster than he could
follow; also the memory of Frisby and Bibles still clung to him
somewhat, despite this new and startling method of taking fortune by
storm. He started to speak, but Perner, who had taken on fuel enough for
a long run, was too quick for him.
"When the first round of the first issue has been going out one day," he
said with conviction, "those subscriptions will begin to come. Each
subscription will bring twenty new names, and that'll mean another round
of the first issue, and the checking off in the books of the people that
have subscribed, showing just who sent them and what he is entitled to
in cash."
"We'll send it to him in a check," said Van Dorn. "Checks always look
well."
"Then," continued Perner, "when these new names begin to come, we'll
commence on the third round of the first issue to the names they send,
and so on to a fourth and even a fifth. We must send as many rounds of
the first issue as possible, for it contains the first chapters of our
serials."
"That's so!" interjected Livingstone, "it does!"