THE ADVERTISING DEPARTMENT
The next morning Pee-wee strode forth and made the magnanimous sacrifice
heroically. He found Deadwood Gamely in front of Simeon Drowser’s
village store, talking with two men who sat in an auto.
The auto was so large and handsome that it looked out of place in front
of Simeon Drowser’s store, and the men who occupied it looked like city
men. It encouraged Pee-wee (or rather confirmed his assurance of
success) to see this sumptuous car in Everdoze, for it proved that
people did come to that sequestered village. He pictured these two
prosperous looking business men with frankfurters in their hands, their
mouths dripping with mustard.
Pee-wee was nothing if not self-possessed, his scout uniform was his
protection, and he strode up and spoke quite to the point to the young
fellow who leaned against the car with one foot on the running board.
“We decided not to take you in as a partner,” he said, “because we want
to have it all to ourselves and I came to tell you.”
Deadwood Gamely seemed rather taken aback, but whether it was because of
this refusal of his offer, or because Pee-wee’s loud announcement
embarrassed him before the strangers it would be hard to say. Seeing
that the diminutive scout no longer held the deadly stencil brush he
removed Pee-wee’s hat with a swaggering good humor, ruffled his hair,
and said (rather disconcertedly), “All right, kiddo; so long.”
Pee-wee had anticipated an argument with Gamely and he was surprised at
the promptness and agreeableness of his dismissal. Two things, one seen
and one heard, remained in his memory as he trudged back to the farm.
One was a brief case lying on the back seat of the auto on which was
printed WALLACE CONSTRUCTION CO. The other was something he heard one of
the men say after he had returned a little way along the road.
“I didn’t think you were such a fool,” the man said, evidently to young
Gamely. Within a few seconds more the auto was rolling away.
It seemed to Pee-wee that Gamely had told the men of his proposal to
join the big enterprise and that they had denounced his wisdom and
judgment. But Pee-wee was not the one to be discouraged by that. “Maybe
they know all about construction,” he said to himself, “but that’s not
saying they know all about refreshment shacks. I bet they don’t know any
more about eats than I do.” Which in all probability was the case.
On the way back to the farm, Pee-wee noticed in a field the most
outlandish scarecrow he had ever seen. It was sitting on a stone wall,
and it must have been a brave crow that would have ventured within a
mile of that ridiculous bundle of rags. The face was effectually
concealed by a huge hat as is the case with most scarecrows, and all the
cast-off clothing of Everdoze for centuries back seemed combined here in
incongruous array.
What was Pee-wee’s consternation when he beheld this figure actually
descend from the fence and come shambling over toward him. If the legs
were not on stilts they were certainly the longest legs he had ever
seen, and they must have been suspended by a kind of universal joint for
they moved in every direction while bringing their burden forward.
Upon this absurd being’s closer approach, Pee-wee perceived it to be a
negro as thin and tall as a clothespole, and so black that the blackness
of sin would seem white by comparison and the arctic night like the
blazing rays of midsummer. This was Licorice Stick whose home was
nowhere in particular, whose profession was everything and chiefly
nothing.
“I done seed yer comin’,” he said with a smile a mile long which shone
in the surrounding darkness like the midnight sun of Norway. His teeth
were as conspicuous as tombstones, and on close inspection Pee-wee saw
that his tattered regalia was held together by a system of safety pins
placed at strategic points. The terrible responsibility of suspenders
was borne by a single strand consisting of a key ring chain connected
with a shoe lace and this ran through a harness pin which, if the worst
came to the worst, would act as a sort of emergency stop. Licorice Stick
was built in the shape of a right angle, his feet being almost as long
as his body and they flapped down like carpet beaters when he walked.
“You stayin’ wib Uncle Eb?” he asked. “I seed yer yes’day. I done hear
yer start a sto.”
“A what?” Pee-wee asked, as they walked along together.
“A sto—you sell eats, hey?”
“Oh, you mean a _store_,” Pee-wee said.
“I help you,” said the lanky stranger; “me’n Pepsy, we good friends. She
hab to go back to dat workhouse, de bridge it say so. Dat bridge am a
sperrit.”
“You’re crazy,” Pee-wee said. “What’s the use of being scared at an old
rattly bridge. If you want to help us I’ll tell you how you can do it. I
made a lot of signs and you can tack them all up on the trees along the
road for us if you want to. I’ll show you just how to do it.”
No one was at the shack when they reached it for Pepsy was about her
household duties, so she had no knowledge of this new recruit in their
enterprise. Pee-wee’s conscience was clear in this matter, however, for
he had enlisted Licorice Stick as an employee, at the staggering salary
of twenty-five cents a week; there was no thought of his being a
partner. The willing assistance of his new friend would leave his own
time free for more important duties, and the advertising work once done,
Licorice Stick was to devote his time to catching fish for the “sto” and
other incidental duties.
Pee-wee now arranged his advertising masterpieces in order for posting.
The imposing type on the cards impressed Licorice Stick deeply. He could
not read two words but he seemed to sense the sensational announcements,
and the arrow which Pee-wee had made on each card to indicate the
direction of the shack was regarded by him as a sort of mystic symbol.
“This is the way you have to do,” Pee-wee said; “now pay attention,
because it pays to advertise. There are two cards for each sign, see?”
“Dey’s nice black print,” Licorice Stick said with reverent
appreciation. “En dey’s de magic sign, too.”
“That tells them where the place is,” Pee-wee said. “Now, you keep the
cards just the way I give them to you and always tack them up with the
arrow pointing _this way_, see? Here’s a hammer and here’s some tacks.
When you come to a nice big tree or a wooden fence or an old barn,
you’re supposed to tack them up, and be sure to do it the way I tell
you. Now, suppose you’re going to tack up the first card—the one on the
top of the pile. You tack it up and right close under it you tack up the
next one, and it will say:
FRANKFURTERS
SIZZLING HOT ⇾
“Mmm—_mm!_” exclaimed Licorice Stick, as if a hot frankfurter had
actually been produced by this ingenious card trick.
“Then you go along a little way,” said Pee-wee, “till you come to
another good place, maybe a fence or something, and you tack up the next
one and right underneath it you tack up the next one; always take the
next one off the top of the pile, see?
ICE CREAM
⇽ COLD AND COOLING
Pee-wee repeated, holding the next two cards up. This palate tickling
sleight-of-hand seemed like a miracle to the smiling, astonished
messenger.
Pee-wee seemed a kind of magician summoning up luscious concoctions with
a magic wand. The fifth and sixth cards were held together for a moment
and lo, Licorice Stick listened to the mouth-watering announcement that
peanut taffy was sweet and delicious.
No “sperrit” of Licorice Stick’s acquaintance had ever cast a spell like
this. They had called in weird voices but they had never contrived a
menu before his very eyes.
He went forth armed with the hammer and tacks and a pile of mysterious
cards, a little proud but trembling a little, too. There was something
uncanny about this; he would see it through but it was a strange, dark
business. He shuffled along the road, peering fearfully into the woods
now and again when suddenly a terrible apparition appeared before him.
He stood stark still, his eyes bulging out of his head, his hands
shaking and cold with fear....