Advertising
"HOW d'y'," said Sam Billings, one morning as he sauntered into Stout's
Grocery, where the proprietor was busily engaged sorting a barrel of
apples.
"Mornin'," replied Peter.
"Nice kind of weather."
"Yes."
"How's things?"
"Nothin' to complain about."
"You're lucky."
"You mean I 'tend to business."
"What's that got to do with luck?"
"Most everything."
"What you gettin' for apples now?" Sam asked as he picked up one of the
largest and took a huge bite.
"Nothin'--for some," replied Peter, without looking up.
"Give 'em away?" munched Sam, innocently.
"Don't have to."
"You mean some folks pay, and some folks don't?"
"Somethin' like that."
"And them that do pay have to make up for them that don't," Sam
chuckled, wisely.
"That's about it," replied Peter, wearily, as he rolled the empty barrel
toward the rear of the store.
"Say, Peter," said Sam, following, "I want to borrer some big sheets of
wrappin' paper and your markin' ink and brush, if you don't mind."
"Goin' to write a letter?" grinned Peter.
"Now, Peter, quit your teasin'. I'll tell you all about it when it's
finished."
"All right, help yourself," said Peter, as he went behind the counter,
and turned an attentive ear, and a smiling what-will-you-have-this-morning
look on a customer who had just come in.
Sam took twenty-five or thirty of the largest sheets of wrapping-paper
he could find, and went into the back room where the oil, molasses,
vinegar, empty boxes, etc., were kept. After rummaging about for a few
minutes he found the marking ink and brush. Then he spread one of the
sheets of paper on a bench, dipped the brush in the ink, and eyed the
paper with a how-shall-I-begin look. Five minutes later Peter came out
to draw some oil and found him in the same attitude.
"Got somethin' on your mind, Sam?" he asked.
"Eh! Oh, yes," Sam replied, "I say, Peter, have you got any old
show-bills?"
"There's one in the window 'bout the firemen's 'play-out' over to Union
Corners."
"That won't do."
"Well, then there's some old circus bills pasted on the inside of the
barn door," said Peter, as he squatted in front of the kerosene barrel
and began filling a can.
"I dunno, guess I'll take a look at 'em anyway," replied Sam,
doubtfully, as he started out of the back door toward the barn.
Peter watched through the doorway, and wondered what Sam was up to until
he was called back to business by the kerosene which was running over
the top of the can.
Sam returned to the back room after an absence of ten minutes, took up his
brush and eagerly went to work. After half an hour's labour he had painted
something that resembled a homemade no-trespassing-beware-of-the-dog sign
upside down, which read:
"BIG SHOW
COME ONE COME ALL AND SEE
THE MORNING GLORY
CLUB in
SHAKESPEARE.
VETERANS HALL MANVILLE Wed. Evg. Feb. 17, 18--, at
eight o'clock SHARP doors open at SEVEN tickets 25
cents RESERVED seats and CHILDREN 15 cents EXTRA, no
CHILDREN and dogs in ARMS not admitted."
Sam held up the sheet and read it again and again with pride. His only
regret was that he had no red or green paint to heighten the effect and
make the poster a work of real art.
"Peter," he called, when he was sure that his work could not be
improved, and when Peter appeared in the doorway, asked: "What do you
think of that?"
"Well," said Peter, slowly, after he had read the poster, "it shows up
some."
"I should say it did," replied Sam, proudly. "And it's jest what the
show needs. Ev'ry house and barn for ten miles 'round oughter be papered
with 'em inside and out."
"Your idea?" queried Peter.
"Ev'ry word."
"What you goin' to do with it?"
"Make a dozen more and stick 'em up 'round."
"Does the club women folks know?" asked Peter.
"Well,--er--I--I've talked it over with one of the officers," replied
Sam, hesitating suspiciously. "And she kinder thought that some
advertisin' ought to be done, though they didn't want to spend any money
doin' it. So I thought I'd help 'em out and s'prise 'em at the same
time."
"They'll be surprised all right," said Peter, grinning.
"Think so?"
"Sure."
"Guess they'll think my advertisin' scheme's all right."
"Hope so, for your sake," replied Peter, as he returned to his work.
Sam worked industriously during the remainder of the forenoon, and by
noontime had finished twelve more posters just like the first.
"Mind if I put one of these up on the outside of the store?" he asked,
as he emerged from the back room with one of the posters carefully held
up in front of himself.
"Go ahead," said Peter, who was busy and had been bothered enough for
one morning. Ten minutes later the poster was exposed on the front of
the store where the public--when it happened that way--could see it. Sam
was patiently waiting for the first passer-by when Alick Purbeck drove
up. Alick read the poster through, and then gave a long whistle.
"Well, what you got to say?" asked Sam, who had watched from the doorway
for the effect of the poster on Alick.
"Reads like a circus; some of your doin's, I'll bet," Alick replied.
"Yes, 'tis; you don't know a good thing when you see it."
"Perhaps not," retorted Alick, "but I know some folks in town that will
appreciate it. If you knew how much paint you'd got on your face, you'd
go and stick your head into a bucket of turpentine."
Sam sneered at Alick's remark, but, though he did have some misgivings
as to how his work would be received, was determined to carry out his
original plan. Without deigning to look or speak to Alick or Peter, he
went into the store, filled his mouth with tacks, put a hammer in his
pocket, took another poster, and went across the street to Mr. Flint's
church, where he tacked the poster on to the bulletin board over the
notice of an oyster party.
The opposition of Mr. Flint to the stage in general, and the club
entertainment in particular, did not occur to Sam. His only thought was
that the church was a good and conspicuous place for a poster.
Alick Purbeck watched from the doorway when Sam started across the road,
and when he saw what his object was called Peter.
"See what that blamed fool's doin'," he said.
"He'll get set on so hard some day that he'll know it," was Peter's
comment.
When the poster was secure in its place, Sam walked slowly backward
until he reached the middle of the road, where he stopped with his hands
in his pockets, his head cocked to one side, and viewed his work with a
critical eye. He had been there but a moment when Doctor Jones drove up,
and when he saw Sam's peculiar attitude stopped.
"Hello, Sam, what do you see that is so absorbing?" he asked, after
waiting a moment for Sam to move or speak. In reply Sam waved his hand
proudly toward the poster on the church.
The doctor looked and read.
"Some of your work?" he asked.
Sam nodded.
"So you are the club's advertising agent?"
"Nope," replied Sam, modestly. "I jest wanted to help 'em out a little."
"Very kind, I'm sure," said the doctor, as he drove away wondering who
had made the mistake.
When Sam returned to the store he found Alick Purbeck standing in the
doorway grinning.
"Do you expect to live long, Sam?" asked Alick.
Sam pushed by without replying, went to the back room, rolled up the
remaining posters, walked out of the store without looking to the right
or left, and marched off up the road.
By nightfall twelve more of Sam's posters were displayed in as many
conspicuous places, and before the last one had been tacked up the whole
town--except the members of the Morning Glory Club--was laughing.
Mrs. Tweedie was furious when Tommy asked if he could go to the "Big
Show," and poor Ezra, he would have thought it funny had not his wife
scolded the whole evening just as though he was to blame.
That night, after they were abed, Mrs. Stout told Peter, among other
things, that he didn't have the sense of a half-grown puppy to let that
fool of a Sam Billings do such a thing. When she had finished it was
time for Peter to get up--and he thought so, too.
The Reverend Elijah Flint was in a terrible rage (state of righteous
indignation). He went to the church as soon as he heard of the outrage,
tore the offending poster into fragments, and vehemently declared that
the perpetrator of the crime should be punished to the full extent of
the law.
And Miss Sawyer, poor Lizzie, she knew that it was her fault, and
bemoaned her indiscretion in mentioning advertising to Sam Billings. She
wept all night, and vowed that she would never speak to him again as
long as she lived.