After dining in the company of Barrett and Caspar Weinpusslacher, H. R.
went to the agency that had handled his newspaper advertising, opened a
charge account, and told them to send to all the morning papers the
following advertisement:
_WANTED._--An actor who can look like a gentleman in good
health before a critical audience of 250,000. Apply in
person, without press notices.
H. R.
Allied Arts Bldg.
It was rather late in the evening when he sent for Max Onthemaker, but
this only served to strengthen the learned counsel's high opinion of
H. R. When H. R. told him what he proposed to do Max jumped in the air
for joy. Then he sat down limply. It suddenly occurred to him that H. R.
was far too intelligent. This is fatal to the right kind of newspaper
publicity. But H. R. soothed him and dispelled Max's doubts by showing
him exactly how to become an efficient and altogether legal _agent
provocateur_. The legal mind always concerns itself over the particular
paragraph. It comes from numbering the statutes. Max worked till dawn on
his papers and arguments.
On the next morning H. R. selected, out of several dozen applicants,
four actors who looked really distinguished. The others walked away
cursing the trust. They are never original, as a class, by reason of
their habit of also reading the press notices of their colleagues.
H. R. told the lucky four that he would give them the hardest part of
their lives.
They looked at him pityingly.
He then guaranteed to get their pictures in all the papers.
They looked blase.
He began to speak to them about fame and about money, and then about
money and fame--the power to go into any restaurant and cause an instant
cessation of all mastication, or walk into any manager's office and be
entreated to sign, at any price, only sign--sign at once!
They accepted on the spot, and asked when the engagement began. In their
eagerness to be artists they forgot to ask the salary.
H. R. then told them that they must introduce the art of sandwiching to
New York. They must command the union sandwiches.
_Never!_
He explained to them very patiently, for he was dealing with
temperaments, that to make sandwiching an art required the highest form
of histrionic ability. Anybody could look like a gentleman on the stage
or in any of the Fifth Avenue drawing-rooms to which they were obviously
accustomed. But, unmistakably to look like a gentleman between
sandwich-boards would require a combination of Richard Mansfield and
ancient lineage. He asked them kindly to ponder on the lamented Edward
VII. How would the Kaiser act? That is the way he wanted his artists to
act--like royalty. It was the highest art ever discovered. They would be
the cynosure of all eyes on Fifth Avenue, where most eyes belong to
wealthy women who always look for, as well as at, handsome men of
discretion and bona-fide divorce decrees. The artists themselves would
represent Valiquet's, the world's greatest jewelers, and the newspapers
would be told of the enormous salaries paid. Some of the boards would be
of real gold, to be valued at two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in
the most conservative of the newspapers. The men also would be paid in
cash, two dollars a day.
"The idea is not to sandwich in the ordinary commercial way, but to give
our press agents the swellest opportunity of the century. Managers have
used real diamonds on the stage. Money buys them. I am using real
gentlemen. Money cannot make them. Valiquet's never does anything
inexpensive, and this is merely the first and most dazzling chapter in
the history of the New Art of Advertising. The newspapers will duly
chronicle the fact that each artist received one thousand dollars a
week--which the artists have turned over to charity, like gentlemen. To
be the Theodore Roosevelts of street advertisements is more than a
privilege, more than an honor, more than art--it is _cash_! There have
been sandwich-men. There shall be _sandwich-artists_! Gentlemen, you
will make history. If you feel you don't measure up to the job, you can
get the hell out of here!"
They not only signed, but begged to begin on that day, even though it
was Friday. But H. R. was adamant.
"Monday!" he said, "and no more remarks. Report at nine A.M., dressed
like gentlemen."
Andrew Barrett reported enthusiastically that nearly every shop on the
Avenue was ready to sign contracts if Valiquet's began. There had been
some skepticism, and expectations were keyed up to the snapping-pitch.
Mr. Gwathmey sent a dozen designs for boards and the model of the
Ultimate Sandwich. It was really a beautiful piece of work. H. R.'s luck
was with him. The young Frenchman who did it came into his own years
later.
H. R. accepted them on official stationery of the society, ordered one
hundred of each size, and also asked that the designs of the
sandwich-boards be engraved in color. He told Barrett to get Valiquet's
written acceptance of his order.
On Sunday all the newspapers were impressively notified that there would
be some novel and revolutionary advertising on the Avenue. To insure
attention, the newspapers were simultaneously informed also that the
Fifth Avenue Merchants' Guild had decided to advertise more extensively
in the daily press. New York would give an object-lesson in optimism and
confidence to the rest of the country. This would allay all fears as to
the fundamental soundness of the general business situation. Wall Street
might be in the dumps, but the legitimate merchants, up to the full-page
size, were more truly representative of the metropolis.
Fleming had been told to detail himself, Mulligan, and the four most
typical sandwiches in the society to act as the advance-guard. He and
the five were at the office early Monday morning, so were the four
histrionic artists, so was Max Onthemaker with nineteen injunctions,
writs, and legal documents neatly typewritten, three process-servers,
and thirty copies of a statement for the newspapers.
Each sandwich-man received his board and a copy of his own speech. It
was a plea for equal rights and the cessation of hostilities against a
poor man simply because he had no money, a prayer for the enforcement of
the Constitution, and three quotations from that obsolete Book that
taught sandwich-men how to turn the other cheek. Also a post-Scriptural
assertion that each man went to church to pray and not to ask for
unearned bread or jump on Standard Oil.
Max himself made them memorize the speech. They were letter perfect
before he stopped.
"This will kill 'em dead," he said, enthusiastically. "Why, Mr. Rutgers,
even the newspapers will think they are Christians and--"
"Make them early Christians," wisely advised H. R. "Thats what the world
needs to-day!"
"You are right, as usual. Hey, you fellows, add, _If we must die, we die
forgiving our fellow-men in the knowledge that after death we shall come
into our own._"
"Hey, I ain't going to be killed just to--" began Mulligan, edging
toward the door.
"In the newspapers, ass! In the front page, imbecile!" shrieked Max.
Mulligan shook his head doggedly.
"Mulligan!" said H. R., and clenched his right fist.
"Ye-es, boss."
"I'll be there to see that you get the forty beers and I'll guarantee
that you'll have a chance to assuage your thirst _after_ business
hours."
"All right, boss," said Mulligan. "And I'll guarantee the thirst."
"Say, can you beat it?" admiringly asked Max of Andrew Barrett. "Where
does he get it?" And he tapped his own cranium sadly.
"And, Mulligan, if you should be locked up," added H. R., "the first
thing you do when you get to jail is to declare a hunger strike. This
will stamp you as Crusaders! And Crusaders never frighten Business."
"Great heavens!" whispered Max.
"Do we get the--" began Mulligan, anxiously.
"Nothing need be said about drinking. You'll get your forty."
"They can do their damnedest," said Mulligan, looking like a
hero-martyr.
"Refer all reporters to your counsel," finally advised Max. "Forget
everything else, but not that, not that!"