Volume III Part 12 (1/2)

I was afraid she would try to run the talk into literary lines and Ibsen and Gorky, where I would have been swamped in a minute, but she didn't, and, although I had wondered how to break the subject of money when conversing with one who must be thinking of n.o.bler things, I found she was less shy when on that subject than when talking about her book.

”Well now,” I said, as soon as I had got her seated, ”we have decided to buy this novel of yours. Can you recommend it as a thoroughly respectable and intellectual production?”

She said she could.

”Haven't you read it?” she asked in some surprise.

”No,” I stammered. ”At least, not yet. I'm going to as soon as I can find the requisite leisure. You see, we are very busy just now--very busy. But if you can vouch for the story being a first-cla.s.s article--something, say, like 'The Vicar of Wakefield' or 'David Harum'--we'll take it.”

”Now you're talking,” she said. ”And do I get the check now?”

”Wait,” I said; ”not so fast. I have forgotten one thing,” and I saw her face fall. ”We want the privilege of publis.h.i.+ng the novel under a t.i.tle of our own, and anonymously. If that is not satisfactory the deal is off.”

She brightened in a moment.

”It's a go, if that's all,” she said. ”Call it whatever you please, and the more anonymous it is the better it will suit yours truly.”

So we settled the matter then and there, and when I gave her our check for a thousand she said I was all right.

III

Half an hour after Miss Vincent had left the office Perkins came in with his arms full of bundles, which he opened, spreading their contents on my desk.

He had a pair of suspenders with nickel-silver mountings, a tie, a lady's belt, a pair of low shoes, a s.h.i.+rt, a box of cigars, a package of cookies, and a half-dozen other things of divers and miscellaneous character. I poked them over and examined them, while he leaned against the desk with his legs crossed. He was beaming upon me.

”Well,” I said, ”what is it--a bargain sale?”

Perkins leaned over and tapped the pile with his long fore-finger.

”Aftermath!” he crowed, ”aftermath!”

”The d.i.c.kens it is,” I exclaimed, ”and what has aftermath got to do with this truck? It looks like the aftermath of a notion store.”

He tipped his ”Air-the-Hair” hat over one ear and put his thumbs in the armholes of his ”ready-tailored” vest.

”Genius!” he announced. ”Brains! Foresight! Else why Perkins the Great?

Why not Perkins the n.o.body?”

He raised the suspenders tenderly from the pile and fondled them in his hands.

”See this?” he asked, running his finger along the red corded edge of the elastic. He took up the tie and ran his nail along the red stripe that formed the selvedge on the back, and said: ”See this?” He pointed to the red laces of the low shoes and asked, ”See this?” And so through the whole collection.

”What is it?” he asked. ”It's genius! It's foresight.”

He waved his hand over the pile.

”The aftermath!” he exclaimed.

”These suspenders are the Crimson Cord suspenders. These shoes are the Crimson Cord shoes. This tie is the Crimson Cord tie. These crackers are the Crimson Cord brand. Perkins & Co. get out a great book, 'The Crimson Cord!' Sell five million copies. Dramatized, it runs three hundred nights. Everybody talking Crimson Cord. Country goes Crimson Cord crazy.