MAKES WASHDAY WELCOME. SIDESTEP SUBSTITUTES.
WIDE-A-WAKEFIELD CLUB, Wakefield:
DEAR SIRS,--The undersigned was born in your city, and left same
about twenty years ago to seek his fortune. I have finally found it
after many ups and downs. Us three brothers have jointly perfected
and patented the famous Paradise Powder. It is generally conceded
to be the grandest thing of its kind ever put on the market, and,
in the words of the motto, "Makes Washday Welcome." Ladies who have
used it agree that our statement is not excessive when we say,
"Once tried, you will use no other."
It is selling at such a rate in the East that I have a personal
profit of two thousand dollars a week. We intend to push it in the
West, and we were talking of where would be the best place to
locate a branch factory at. My brothers mentioned Chicago, St.
Louis, Omaha, Denver, and such places, but I said, "I vote for
Wakefield." My brothers said I was cracked. I says maybe I am, but
I'm going back to my old home town and spend the rest of my life
there and my surplus money, too. I want to beautify Wakefield, and
as near as I can remember there is room for improvement. It may not
be good business, but it is what I want to do. And also what I want
to know is, can I rely on the co-operation of the Wide-a-Wakefield
Club in doing its share to build up the old town into a genuine
metropolis? Also, what would be the probable cost of a desirable
site for the factory?
Hoping to receive a favorable reply from you at your earliest
convenience,
Yours truly,
LUKE B. SHELBY.
The chairman's grin had grown wider as he read and read. When he had
finished the letter he tossed it along the line. Every member read it
and shook with equal laughter.
"I wonder what kind of green goods he sells?" said Joel Spate, the owner
of the Bon-Ton Grocery.
"My father used to say to me," said Forshay, of the One-Price Emporium,
"whatever else you do, Jake, always suspicion the fellow that offers you
something for nothing. There's a nigger in the woodpile some'eres."
"That's so," said Soyer, the swell tailor, who was strong on second
thought.
"He says he's goin' to set up a factory here, but he don't ask for rent
free, tax free, light free--nothin' free," said the practical
house-painter.
"What's the name again?" said Spate.
"Shelby--Luke B. Shelby," answered Pettibone. "Says he used to live here
twenty years ago. Ever hear of him? I never did."
Spate's voice came from an ambush of spectacles and whiskers: "I've
lived here all m' life--I'm sixty-three next month. I don't remember any
such man or boy."
"Me, neither," echoed Soyer, "and I'm here going on thirty-five year."
The heads shook along the line as if a wind had passed over a row of
wheat.
"It's some new dodge for sellin' stock," suspicioned One-Price Forshay,
who had a large collection of cutlery certificates.
"More likely it's just a scheme to get us talking about his Paradise
Powder. Seems to me I've had some of their circulars," said Bon-Ton
Spate.
Pettibone, the practical chairman, silenced the gossip with a brisk,
"What is the pleasure of the meeting as regards answering it?"
"I move we lay it on the table," said Eberhart of the Furniture Palace.
"I move we lay it under the table," said Forshay, who had a keen sense
of humor.
"Order, gentlemen! Order," rapped Pettibone, as the room rocked with the
laughter in which Forshay led.
When sobriety was restored it was moved, seconded, and passed that the
secretary be instructed to send Shelby a copy of the boom number of the
Wakefield _Daily Eagle_.
And in due time the homesick Ulysses, waiting a welcome from Ithaca,
received this answer to his letter:
LUKE B. SHELBY, Springfield, Mass.
SIR,--Yours of sixteenth inst. rec'd and contents noted. In reply
to same, beg to state are sending last special number _Daily
Eagle_, giving full information about city and sites.
Yours truly,