Part 28 (1/2)

”I've seen it in the newspaper, but never connected it with you. Being out of the medical line I lost interest. Say, it's a wonder! Did it fetch 'em?”

”Fetch 'em? It knocked 'em flat. That picture's the foundation of this business. Talk about suggestion in advertising! He's a regular hypnotist, Old Lame-Boy is. Plants the suggestion right in the small of your back, where we want it. Why, Elpy, I've seen a man walk up to that picture on a bill-board as straight as you or me, take one good, long look, and go away hanging onto his kidneys, and squirming like a lizard.

Fact! What do you think of that? Genius, I call it: just flat genius, to produce an effect like that with a few lines and a daub or two of color.”

”Some pull!” agreed Mr. McQuiggan, with professional approval. ”And then--'Try Certina,' eh?”

”For a starter and, for a finisher 'Certina _Cures_.' Shoves the bottle right into their hands. The first bottle braces 'em. They take another.

By the time they've had half a dozen, they love it.”

”Booze?”

”Sure! Flavored and spiced up, nice and tasty. Great for the temperance trade. _And_ the best little repeater on the market. Now take a look, Elpy.”

He tapped the end of his pen upon the rough sketch of the mining advertis.e.m.e.nt, which he had drafted. Mr. McQuiggan bent over it in study, and fell a swift victim to the magic of the art.

”Why, that would make a wad of bills squirm out of the toe of a stockin'! It's new game to me. I've always worked the personal touch.

But I'll sure give it a try-out, Andy.”

”I guess it's bad!” exulted the other. ”I guess I've lost the trick of tolling the good old dollars in! Take this home and try it on your cash register! Now, come around and meet the boy.”

Thus it was that Editor-in-Chief Harrington Surtaine, in the third week of his inc.u.mbency received a professional call from his father, and a companion from whose pockets bulged several sheets of paper.

”Shake hands with Mr. McQuiggan, Hal,” said the Doctor. ”Make a bow when you meet him, too. He's your first new business for the reformed 'Clarion.'”

”In what way?” asked Hal, meeting a grip like iron from the stranger.

”News?”

”News! I guess not. Business, I said. Real money. Advertising.”

”It's like this, Mr. Surtaine,” said L.P. McQuiggan, turning his spare, hard visage toward Hal. ”I've got some copper stock to sell--an A1 under-developed proposition; and your father, who's an old pal, tells me the 'Clarion' can do the business for me. Now, if I can get a good rate from you, it's a go.”

”Mr. Shearson, the advertising manager, is your man. I don't know anything about advertising rates.”

”Then you'd best get busy and learn,” cried Dr. Surtaine.

”I'm learning other things.”

”For instance?”

”What news is and isn't.”

”Look here, Boyee.” Dr. Surtaine's voice was surcharged with a disappointed earnestness. ”Put yourself right on this. News is news; any paper can get it. But advertising is _Money_. Let your editors run the news part, till you can work into it. _You get next to the door where the cash comes in._”

In the fervor of his advice he thumped Hal's desk. The thump woke McGuire Ellis, who had been devoting a spare five minutes to his favorite pastime. For his behoof, the exponent of policy repeated his peroration. ”Isn't that right, Ellis?” he cried. ”You're a practical newspaper man.”

”It's true to type, anyway,” grunted Ellis.

”Sure it is!” cried the other, too bent on his own notions to interpret this comment correctly. ”And now, what about a little reading notice for McQuiggan's proposition?”

”Yes: an interview with me on the copper situation and prospects might help,” put in McQuiggan.