Читать книгу Andy Blake's Comet Coaster - Edward Edson Lee - Страница 6

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Twenty minutes late by the office clock, Tom Dingley walked briskly through the Rollins and Hatch lobby, calling a spirited greeting to the bright-eyed information girl. A moment later he turned into the small private office that he shared with Andy Blake.

“Well! Well! I see we have with us this morning the world-famous Advertising Andy. How lovely! Tell me quick, before I faint with joy over your triumphant return, how is Denny Landers, dear old Aunt Tilly of ‘Taffy Tart’ fame, and the various other Cressfield celebrities, including the mayor’s bull pup?”

Of all the young men in the big agency Andy liked Dingley best, though upon first association he had felt that the Chicago boy was somewhat rattle-headed. He had come to learn that this was merely Dingley’s way.

“Anything new around here?” the returned vacationist inquired.

“About the newest thing is Mr. Rollins’ trip to Europe. He left Chicago last Tuesday, the day before I called you up on long distance.”

Throughout the agency it was generally known that Mr. Milo Rollins, the managing executive, was planning a European trip in company with the sales director of a leading tractor concern, but it had been Andy’s understanding that the two executives were not to leave for England until late in August.

The conversation then turned to the inquiry that Andy had been delegated to handle.

“I had a bully good time in Manton. George Warman is a prince. I met two of his right-hand men—real fellows, both of them. The carriage industry, I was told, is at a standstill. Farmers who used to buy carriages at the county fairs are, for the most part, buying automobiles instead. Many of the old carriage companies have gone up the flue. The Warman company hasn’t made a dollar in three years. Just now the plant is closed down.”

“Not very promising,” Dingley showed disappointment.

“George Warman insists that there is still a market for carriages, though obviously it is a scattered market. If he is right, we can easily shape an advertising campaign that will swing the bulk of the carriage business in their direction.”

“How’s finances?” inquired Dingley, in good business foresight. “We don’t want to sink money and time in this proposition and get hung up on collections.”

“Mr. Herman Warman, the owner of the business, is a man of considerable wealth. Here is a copy of their financial statement.”

“Any idea how much they intend spending?”

“Thirty thousand dollars the first year. George, of course, will have to sell his grandfather on the proposition. I didn’t meet Mr. Warman, Sr. From what the bookkeeper told me I guess he’s a queer old bird. In a rut, and too stubborn to admit it. He may kick the whole scheme sky high. Somehow, though, I have a lot of faith in George’s ability to handle his grandfather. He’s a fighter, that boy!”

During the business day Andy gave no further detailed thought to carriages, for considerable work had accumulated on his desk, which, of course, had to be taken care of before he could consider new problems. That evening, though, while abroad in one of Chicago’s principal thoroughfares, his thoughts returned to the three young men in Manton. He was still eagerly hopeful that he would have the opportunity of working with them, to the sound building up of the tottering business. But he wished, as he continued his reflective evening stroll, that there were, around him, more general evidences of an existing carriage market. Thousands and thousands of automobiles passed him in the streets, but not a single carriage. Still, he reasoned, one wouldn’t expect to find carriages in a big city.

The following morning he was summoned to the manager’s office.

“Well, Blake,” Mr. Charles Hatch inquired in his characteristic brusque way, “how about that carriage proposition? Did you bring back a contract?”

Always in the presence of this waspish, sallow-faced, furtive-eyed junior executive, Andy felt vaguely uneasy.

“Let’s get action on this,” the curt order followed the younger man’s somewhat faltering recital of his trip to Manton. “For we need the business.”

Andy’s face flushed. Mr. Rollins, he thought, wouldn’t have spoken so sharply.

“I didn’t think, sir, that we should urge a contract on the Warman company without first making sure that there is a market for carriages.”

“Of course, there’s a market for carriages,” came impatiently. “Here are some figures that I gathered the other day,” the agency’s statistician went on. “The United States alone has approximately nineteen million farm horses, of which it is safe to conclude that not less than five per cent are used for carriage purposes. In the past two years, even with the wide acceptance of tractors, the number of horses on farms has decreased less than four per cent. Surely this points to an existing carriage market. Our job, as advertising men, will be to see that the Warman company gets the big bulk of the business.”

Andy thought warmly of his three new friends in Manton.

“Then you feel, sir,” his face brightened, “that we should accept the account?”

This question nettled the executive.

“One thing you must learn, Blake, if you expect to progress here, is to wisely decide things for yourself, and not wait on others to decide things for you.”

“I would like to accept the account, sir.”

“Fine!” the cold voice showed more warmth. “If that is your recommendation, after spending an afternoon there, we will accept the account. Now, Blake, get your campaign in shape as quickly as possible. If necessary, turn your regular work over to Dingley. Mr. Rollins has spoken highly of your ability. I want to see what you can do on this carriage proposition. So do your best. And come to me the moment you have everything in shape.”

Andy’s mind was a bit confused as he returned to his desk. Mr. Hatch was a queer man, sharply critical one minute and flattering the next. But though appreciative of the praise given him the younger one wished that he hadn’t been made responsible for the new account without first having been permitted to complete a careful analysis. It seemed to him that Mr. Hatch, with his ready statistics, had acted hastily.

“Get a raise in pay?” joked Dingley, meeting Andy as the latter came out of the manager’s office.

“We were discussing the Warman proposition. He wants me to work out a campaign right away. Page ads for all of the reliable mid-western farm papers; mail order copy; clean-cut illustrations. Warman carriages since 1875—the greatest buggy buy in the world.”

“Why not make it the ‘buggiest buy?’” joked Dingley, always on the lookout for fun.

“In the copy,” Andy continued, “we’re to make a strong bid for inquiries, and I’m to dope out some form letters and follow-up literature. We’ll have to install a system at the factory for handling the direct-by-mail stuff. The bookkeeper can help out on that. It’s going to be fun. Still, I wish that Mr. Hatch had acted less hastily.”

Passing into their office, Dingley closed the door.

“Blake, tell me the truth, do you like Mr. Hatch?”

“In secret between us—no.”

“Nor do I. Furthermore, I have no confidence in him.”

Here the door opened and Mr. Bagley, the clerk in charge of the research and media files, came quietly into the room, handing Andy a list of the leading mid-western agricultural magazines, together with rates, circulation by states, and closing dates.

The Warman campaign was begun.