J. Sanford Bowser leaned back in a gray easy-chair, stretched out his
long legs and studied for many minutes the cards.
Abruptly he stood erect; dynamically his teeth clicked. With quick hands
he seized the Garfinko Nostinko card and the John Bowser card and tore
them into small bits.
“Thinking out loud,” he said—a favorite expression of his—“I intend to
be master in my own office and in my own home.”
He jabbed a buzzer button. Two thousand employees of The Bowsers, Inc.,
breathed again. They knew that the big decision had been made.
In spurted Miss Mink.
“Minktakmemo.”
She looked at him in some alarm; he appeared ruffled, almost agitated.
It was contagious; her hand trembled.
“Memo to Hencastle,” he jerked out. “_In re_ name. My final
decision is SMELLY-WELLY—Dirt-devourer! This name must be used
no matter what objections are raised; it will be up to you to
see that this is done. Please note that appointment is for one
sharp, as per verbal instructions given this morning.
“(Signed) J. Sanford Bowser, _President_.”
He signed it as if he were signing the Declaration of Independence.
“Minktaknuthermemo.”
Miss Mink snapped to attention.
“To Hendricks. _In re_ matter discussed this morning. My final
choice is Kinzo. Please carry out my instructions to the letter.
Use my limousine.
“(Signed) J. Sanford Bowser, _President_.”
“Now,” he directed, “when Hencastle and Hendricks have left the office
please find Mrs. Bowser and ask her to be so good as to come to the
Quiet Room as soon as she can for a very important conference.”
Miss Mink scurried forth, and he picked up a large pad of paper and
began to sketch out posters for the forthcoming Smelly-Welly campaign.
So engrossed was he in this work that he did not notice that it was
fully two hours before Mrs. Bowser entered. She was slightly disheveled,
slightly smeared with purple ink, slightly flushed, and in her hand were
many papers.
“Well, Bowser?” she inquired.
“Sit down, please,” he said most affably.
She did so.
“Bowser,” he began levelly, “I’m not going to beat around the bush. I’m
going to tell you straight out.”
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“Two heads,” stated Mr. Bowser, “may be better than one in thinking, but
one is better than two in doing. So I determined today that I would go
ahead and name the new cleaning powder and attend to the christening of
the baby myself.”
“Oh, have you really?” said Mrs. Bowser in a voice ten degrees below
freezing. “Important, if true.”
“It is true,” he rejoined calmly. “The things have been done.”
“Done? Done!” The first “done” she uttered was a whisper; the second
“done” a scream.
“Precisely. Both jobs I put through according to a careful plan,” he
continued with serenity. “By my order Hencastle went to Peabody
Garfinkle and told him he could order one million cans bearing the label
Smelly-Welly.”
Mrs. Bowser, incapable of speech, sucked in her breath sharply.
“And,” finished Mr. Bowser, “also by my order, Hendricks called at the
house today, took the baby to the church in the limousine, and had him
christened.”
“What?” asked Mrs. Bowser faintly. “John?”
“No,” said Mr. Bowser; “Kinzo.”
For a brief second Mrs. Bowser appeared to be about to swoon, but she
didn’t; she spoke, but with an effort.
“There are times,” she said slowly, “when mere words cannot express
thoughts. And this is one of them.” Then, with mounting ire: “Do you
mean to sit there and tell me, J. Sanford Bowser, that you had the
unmitigated nerve to name my baby without——”
“Hush, for heaven’s sake! There’s somebody at the door,” he said. There
was indeed somebody at the door; the Bowsers heard a crackling noise.
“Look! What’s that?” exclaimed Mr. Bowser.
“It’s a newspaper; someone is poking it under the door,” she said,
mystified.
He stooped and picked up the paper.
“Early edition of the Evening Clarion,” he said. “Look—it’s
marked—right here.”
For a moment they bent their heads over the sheet.
Then Mrs. Bowser gave forth a heartrending scream that made the gray
walls of the Quiet Room tremble; then Mr. Bowser cried aloud “Great
Cæsar’s ghost!” and collapsed into a chair. Staring out in cold black
type they saw:
Late News
Bowser Scion Christened
The infant son of Mr. and Mrs. J. Sanford Bowser, well-known
publicity engineers, of Park Avenue, and Great Neck, L. I., was
christened at noon today in the Church of Saint Jude the
Obscure, by the Rev. James Russell Swiggette. The name given the
infant was Smelly-Welly Dirt-devourer Bowser.
Mr. Bowser recovered just enough to moan, “Great Cæsar’s ghost—they got
the memos mixed! They got the memos mixed!”
“Smelly-Welly Bowser,” repeated Mrs. Bowser over and over, as if under
some horrible spell. “Smelly-Welly Bowser. My baby! Smelly-Welly
Bowser.”
“They got the memos mixed, Pandora,” he said abjectly. “I tell you they
got the memos mixed.”
“Smelly-Welly Bowser,” she moaned. “You wanted an unusual name! You
wanted a name no one will forget! You wanted a name easy to say! Well,
you’ve got it! Oh, dear; oh, dear—Smelly-Welly Bowser! My son.
Smelly-Welly——”
“Oh, Pandora,” he cried, taking her hand, “how can you—or he—ever
forgive me?”
She looked up and the beginning of a smile twitched her lips.
“Now we’ll just have to call him John,” she said.